E4K the Winchester Way
by CastielLovesDean
Summary: On Novermber 17th, 2012, Sam and Dean Winchester participate in an endurance charity event run by Random Acts. The goal: how many monsters can they kill in one night?


**E4K the Winchester Way, Chapter 1**

_By CastielLovesDean_

_Summary: On Novermber 17th, 2012, Sam and Dean Winchester participate in an endurance charity event run by Random Acts. The goal: how many monsters can they kill in one night?_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. T_T_

_Warning: Violence. Use of the word "rape."_

_Pairings: Canon._

_Author's Note: This entire fanfiction is basically just a big shameless plug for Misha's charity, Random Acts, and their November 17-18 event, Endure4Kindness. I'm going to write and illustrate as many pages of a children's book (about random acts of kindness) as I can in 24 hours, but there are many other amazing pledges. Bear in mind that this fanfiction is not a part of the event, as fanfiction and other forms of fanart are not admissible under their copyright guidelines. This is just to increase awareness of the event. And to torture Sam and Dean. :)_

_It's a great event, and you can make a difference by signing up, pledging, or just leaving encouraging comments. Check it out by following Random Acts - therandomactorg - or myself - Amethyst_Dagger - on Twitter, or just google Endure4Kindness. Thank you for your consideration!_

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_Built upon a sacred site  
She comes alive with the dead at night  
Humming with ghosts and crawling with spiders  
A thousand horrors linger inside her  
They say it's worst in the cellar wherein  
An evil man dismembered his victims  
His spirit hunts theirs from dusk till dawn  
Those who enter are forever gone  
At sunset, the doors are sealed  
There's no way out, they will not yield  
By the morning's first ray of sun,  
The population is up by one.  
If you want to live, just leave alone  
The most haunted place the world has ever known_

"How'd I let you talk me into this?"

"Me?! You're the one who said you wanted to raid Cursed Catherine Castle."

"Well, next time you're in the mood for granting wishes, just get me a bacon cheeseburger or hook me up with Jessica Alba and Natalie Portman. Don't rope me into a suicidal all-nighter in the most haunted house on the planet."

"You agreed to do this, Dean. It's for a good cause."

"Everything we do is for a good cause. We save lives and hunt monsters. We exorcise demons. We stopped the apocalypse. We threw Lucifer back in his cage. Was that all just fun to you?"

"You know what I mean. Random Acts is a good charity, and all our acquaintances have already pledged one hundred and twenty-seven dollars for every monster we kill in that house tonight."

"And how much do they donate if the monsters kill us? You know the doors seal at night. We won't have backup to save our asses."

"Fine. How 'bout this: if you don't hunt with me, I'm going to make you walk a hundred miles in a princess dress."

"Don't be such a bitch. I said I'd do it, didn't I?"

"Then stop complaining, Dean. We'll be there soon and sunset is in four hours."

They drove silently toward their destination for two minutes. "I'm just saying," Dean pointed out suddenly, "who builds creepy castles on old cemeteries? Why would they do that? Gee, here's a plot of land that's filled with dead people that were mostly used as human sacrifices. Let's build a house on it and piss them off. And then a serial killer moves in and gets away with killing hundreds of people in that house before he dies, again, in that house. What are the chances of all that happening in one spot?"

"Maybe it's some kind of supernatural vortex. Like, the land itself is evil, and either it attracts evil people or it turns people evil. Here's hoping it's not the latter because you're already a jerk."

"Said the guy who banged Ruby and freed Lucifer."

"Hey! We agreed we weren't gonna bring that up anymore."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. So, what's the game plan here? Just walk in and kill as many ghosts as possible, or are we actually going to try to determine if it's a vortex of evil?"

"Well, I'm kinda figuring just go in there and kill things. We don't really have enough time to do research and collect supplies before sunset tonight. After tonight-"

"If we survive..."

"-we'll go do some research and go back if and when we find out how to purge the land."

"Awesome."

acdcacdc

_Five hours later..._

"How'd I let you talk me into this?!" Dean screamed at Sam over the thundering of restless spirits chasing them. The ghosts had gotten on them as soon as the sun had set, and they'd been so busy running for their lives for the next hour that they hadn't had much of an opportunity to hunt.

"Damnit, Dean, quit whining and help me with this!" Sam tossed an iron fire poker at Dean and started laying down a circle of rock salt.

Dean swung the poker wildly at the nearest ghosts. "I'm sorry," Dean yelled, not the least bit sorry, "but I'm just a little cranky because in the last hour we've raked up how much cash for that stupid charity? Oh, that's right. Zero dollars. I make that much looking up porn on your laptop."

"I knew it!" Sam finished the salt circle and switched the salt out for another iron weapon to wield against the ghost pack. "Those porn sites are full of viruses! I don't want my computer full of viruses, man!"

"Who's whining now?!"

They stood back-to-back for a couple minutes, trying to fend off the ghosts with their iron pokers.

"So what's your plan, Sammy?" Dean demanded over the roar of angry ghosts. "We just stand here until they disappear in the morning?"

As if on cue, a tremulous torrent of wind came howling unnaturally down the hallway. The ghosts froze in place momentarily, then dissipated en masse. Sam and Dean weren't eager to face a terror that scared the dead. In front of a closed door near one end of the hallway stood a solitary ghost so mangled it must have had a terrible death. Black ectoplasm dribbled down its left sleeve into a puddle on the floor.

Sam and Dean both suspected that this was the ghost of the infamous Catherine Castle Killer, Hiram Caudill. Hiram stalked slowly toward them along one wall, smearing the black ooze along the ornate molding. He picked up speed after a few seconds, accelerating until he vanished with a splat at the boundary of Sam's salt circle, dousing Sam and Dean with ectoplasm spatter. They stood there silently for a moment, allowing themselves to just be grossed out at how filthy they had become.

Sam turned around first, aiming a flashlight from their hunting kit at the trail of ectoplasm that led down the hall. "Where do you think he's going?"

"Do I look like a serial-killer-ghost whisperer to you?" Dean groused, trying to shake some of the ectoplasm from his coat.

"Well, we need to find his bones to burn them," Sam pointed out reasonable. "Wherever he's going is a good start."

"That room he came from is a better start," Dean argued. "Also, it's right there, and I'm pretty sure he's not in there since he just went that way."

Sam considered that. "Fine. You check out the room, I'll follow the ectoplasm."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Do you think it's a good idea for us to split up?"

"Sure. What's the worst that could happen?"

"Off the top of my head? Torture, murder, possession, loss of limbs, sanity, or bodily functions..."

Sam grinned crookedly. "You done?"

"Ever been raped by a ghost?"

Sam scoffed. "We have no reason to suspect the serial killer is also a rapist."

"You figure he has to draw the line somewhere?"

"Just keep your phone on." Sam grabbed a shotgun and a pack of cartridges from the duffel bag and slowly started following the ectoplasm.

After Sam turned the corner, Dean grabbed his bag and cautiously walked up to the door. He tried the knob. No luck. He kicked the door a couple times. Still no luck. With a sigh, he whipped out his lock picks and got to work opening the door.

Dean figured that a door this old would have a simple locking mechanism, so he started with the most basic lock picking technique. He had two picks in the lock, and he turned them and twisted them and jiggled them to no avail. How could this old lock be so difficult to pick? He replaced one of the picks with a different style pick and tried again. He got exactly no where. He fudged with the lock until his cell phone rang.

acdcacdc

Around the corner was another long, creepy hallway. Sam tracked Hiram all the way down that hallway. It led him around three more dark corners, up a creaky curved staircase, and into a dusty, two-story library. Sam made his way across the library, surreptitiously checking his surroundings for ghosts. He hadn't seen a single spirit since Hiram covered him in ectoplasm. The gelatinous black trail led him to a bookcase along a far wall. The trail appeared to lead beneath the bookcase. A lone book was messily smeared with black goo.

Sam wrapped his hand in his coat sleeve and pulled on the book. A loud, grinding sound echoed through the library, and the bookcase slid to the left. After it stilled again, Sam took a nice, long peek behind it.

The space behind the mystery bookshelf had another staircase, this one a narrow, tight spiral leading down past where Sam's flashlight could see. It might have been dozen flights; Sam couldn't tell. He called Dean's cell phone.

"Yeah." Dean sounded frustrated.

"I've found a secret staircase behind a moving bookshelf."

"What? Seriously? I thought those were just in the movies."

"Apparently not. The bookcase is in the library." He stepped back to give Dean a detailed description of the bookcase. "There's, uh... a gargoyle holding a torch above the bookcase."

"A _torch_? Dude, this castle isn't that old. Didn't they have electricity back then?"

"This castle was built in the mid-nineteenth century, but Thomas Edison didn't invent the power plant until the 1870s, so, no, they just missed it."

"Of course you know that. Who wouldn't know that, except everyone with a life?"

"Look, I'm lighting the torch, okay? That should make it really obvious if you have to come find me. The book that opens the passageway is called... _The Castle of Otranto_."

"The Castle of what?"

"Otranto. O-T-R-A-N-T-O."

"Oh. _Otranto_. I thought you were speaking gibberish. What was I thinking."

"I'm going down some creepy, dark stairs now, Dean. If you don't hear from me in thirty minutes, come find me."

"If you get into trouble with the ghosts, just bore them to death. Works on me."

Sam hung up the phone. For someone who didn't appreciate his encyclopaedic knowledge, Dean certainly counted on it a lot. Sam took a deep breath, scanned the library once more, and headed down the staircase.

acdcacdc

Dean hung up the phone and glared at the lock he'd been trying to pick. "Oh, screw this." He stuffed the lock picks in his pocket, took out his gun, and emptied the magazine into the door around the knob. Two solid kicks and the door was open. "Awesome. Who said violence didn't solve anything?"

It appeared to be a small sitting area. There were a couple sofas, a coffee table, curtains along one wall, and several partially-melted candles. Everything was covered in dust. The walls had a few hideously creepy paintings. They reminded him of the time the little girl from that other creepy painting was murdering everyone who bought the painting, and before he let himself go any further, he memorized every single painting in the room... just in case.

"Well, getting in this room was worth the effort," Dean mumbled sarcastically to himself. He looked around the small room once more, and he thought that the curtains on the back wall were oddly placed. He looked behind one. Bare wall. He looked behind the other. There was a door: plain but worn from excessive usage. "What's behind door number two?"

He opened the door.

acdcacdc

Sam was hardly claustrophobic, but this staircase was just ridiculous. He'd gone so far down the steep, narrow staircase that he could no longer see the light at the top of the staircase, but his flashlight still couldn't see the bottom. As he went lower and lower, the walls turned wet and slimy with mildew and mold, and his breath became visible before his flashlight. Air air smelled fouler with each step he took. He was tempted to go back, but his gut said that this staircase had to lead to something relevant, so he pressed on.

Closer to the bottom of the staircase, some of the stairs were missing or broken, and he had to slow his descent. Finally, he reached the end. He waved his flashlight around to get a look at what needed to be so hidden, and what he saw astonished him. There's no way they'd brought enough salt to burn all the rows of corpses stacked neatly on their own shelves like books in a library.

Perhaps Hiram thought it appropriate that the entrance to this tomb was the library itself.

Sam took out his phone to call Dean, but when he did, it rang.

acdcacdc

"Bingo." Dean had found Hiram's kill room. Or one of them.

There was a human-sized wooden table complete with metal restraints clearly designed to immobilize the head, arms, torso, and legs. The wood was stained and crusty with blood so old it didn't even smell anymore, a small relief. One entire wall contained rusty instruments of torture of every kind imaginable, and thanks to his time in Hell Dean could imagine quite a bit.

The whole scene was giving him flashbacks of Hell he hadn't had in ages. He felt light-headed and started to sweat. He may not have been one to cry for his mommy in times of stress, but he did want Sam to be there. He took out his phone, but before he could call his brother, a cold gust of wind whipped through the small room and slammed the door shut. Something dripped behind him, and he didn't need all those years of hunting experience to know he was in trouble.

He turned around, prepared for almost anything, and was instantly overwhelmed by a foggy, terrifying presence.

acdcacdc

"Hey, Dean," Sam answered his phone, "I found a tomb. There must be hundreds of bodies down here."

"Well, I found Caudill's kill room, and his dead body to boot."

"You found him? Where?"

"In a room behind the room I broke into. This guy's a real fan of secret rooms. You should come back here. We'll burn this guy together and then go back to the dungeon and burn his victims."

"Yeah, I'll be there in a few." Sam hung up the phone. Something wasn't right. He knew it, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He glanced around the tomb once more then made his way back up the stairs. He took them two at a time and tried to keep track of them but lost count somewhere around one hundred.

Thankfully the ectoplasm trail was still there when he reached the top of the staircase, every muscle in his legs throbbing in pain. He stretched his legs out for just a few seconds before continuing, grateful for once that he took yoga in college, even if it was just to meet girls. He took a deep breath and sprinted through the library, down a staircase – one flight, _thank God_ – through more than enough dusty old hallways, and finally made it to the door Dean had broken into. Shot it, actually. Figured.

He entered the room, but Dean was nowhere to be seen. What had he said? A room behind the room he broke into. He pulled back one of the curtains and found a door. That must be it. He went inside. He found Dean leaning against a disgusting, bloody old torture table, admiring something sharp and rusty on a stick. "Dean?" he asked.

Dean looked up. The black goo leaking out of the corner of his eye was clearly not part of the spatter Hiram had splashed them with earlier. He was possessed. "Glad you could make it, Sammy."

"Don't call me that," Sam commanded the serial killer. "Only Dean gets to call me that."

Hiram smiled and whistled. "Boy, you are a smart one. But then," he tapped himself – Dean – on the temple, "I knew that."

"Let my brother go."

Hiram laughed. "Make me."

Sam did nothing. He hated being in this situation, where something was possessing someone he cared about and he could do a whole lot of nothing about it. He eyeballed the torture table. He hated the idea of strapping Dean into it, of risking making him relive his time in Hell, even if he wouldn't hurt him, but as he looked around, he wasn't sure there was a better option.

Hiram attacked him with his rusty weapon, and Sam dodged to the side. He grabbed another sharp-metal-on-a-stick style weapon and spun around just in time to block Hiram's next attack. They exchanged a few more blows, and before long, Sam noticed that, even in Dean's body, Hiram was not nearly the fighter Dean was. Sam fought him into a corner, slammed him into a wall – careful not to hurt him too much – and threw him onto the table, taking the opportunity to chain him to it while he was still dizzy.

As soon as he opened his eyes, Sam could see that Dean was back. "Dean!"

Dean struggled against the restraints. "Sam, no! It's a trap!"

Sam's stomach sank. Even as he moved to undo the chains he'd just locked without any idea of where the keys were, he rightly knew he'd be too late. His brain hiccuped, and suddenly his body wasn't his own.

An evil laughed gurgled from his own throat. "Oh, Dean," Hiram cooed, shaking his head. "Your brother's not as smart as you both think he is."

Dean tried to hide his revulsion at the familiar situation from Hiram. "I suppose you're going to kill me now. Well, get it over with."

"No, I don't think so. You see, this was my plan all along. I'm sure you remember everything I did whilst I possessed you, just as Sam is conscious of everything I'm doing with him." Hiram continued to talk while he selected which instrument to use on Dean first. "According to Sam's large brain, I've got a little more than six hours before sunrise, and I intend to make use of every minute. I'm going to do my best to inflict as much pain upon you as the human body can withstand, and harm you such that you won't die quickly but can't be saved with duct tape and bar rags. And as the sun rises, I'm going to leave Sam alone in this room with nothing but one bullet in his gun, your mutilated body to watch you die slowly, and the memories of having killed you himself. Either he'll kill himself with that gun or die of starvation." Hiram finally decided which tool he'd use first. He waved it in front of Dean's face to bask in the delicious stench of the man's fear. "If he truly loves you, he'll put you out of your misery and starve to death himself, but then, I really don't care."

_To Be Continued..._

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_A/N: Sorry to leave it there. I know I'm an awful human being. I would love reviews, though! :)_

_Please look up Endure4Kindness! Thank you! 3_


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